


Filling the Void

by walking_tornado



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Scene, Blood and Gore, Demon Dean, Episode: s10e02 Reichenbach, M/M, Mark of Cain, Minor Character Death, Necrophilia, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_tornado/pseuds/walking_tornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon Dean lures Sam to a bar, but when Sam refuses to take the Mark of Cain, Dean changes his plan.  (an alternate Sam/Dean confrontation at the end of 10.02)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filling the Void

**Author's Note:**

> Read warnings and tags. This is the second of two fills I wrote for the last round of spn_masquerade. Written for [THIS](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/6017.html?thread=1749633#t1749633) prompt.

"Sam. Sammy!" Dean called out, pushing away from the piano in the dim bar. "What took you so long?" Dean opened his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, but the broad smile faded into a smirk and never reached his eyes. He stood taller than he had before his death, confident in a way that Sam hadn't seen in a long time. 

"You're not my brother." Sam's voice came out strong, despite how the words wanted to stick in his throat. 

Dean cocked his head with mock-sadness before the hateful smirk reappeared. "First of all, that hurts. Second," Dean said, counting it off on his fingers, playing for effect, "not true. I am more _me_ than I've ever been. This," he threw wide his arms, "is pure Dean. I do what I want, when I want, and I _finally_ don't give a fuck about why I shouldn't. It's the best fucking feeling in the world!" He paused, waiting for Sam's comeback, but Sam only watched, taking stock of the demon, waiting for his time. Dean's smile widened. "And third," he continued, "I got you a present." Dean reached the slumped form at his feet and pulled up the bartender, trussed and blinking in confusion. Blood trailed down the man's face. 

"Let him go, Dean." 

"No." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Glad you finally showed up, Sammy. I wasn't going to wait much longer and the whole point would have been lost without you here." 

"I would have showed up sooner if you hadn't gone out of your way to hide from me." 

"Oh, I wasn't hiding. I was researching. About how to transfer this." Dean pulled up his sleeve to bare the Mark of Cain. "See, I don't need it anymore; it did its thing. But you," Dean chuckled and nodded his head. "Oh yeah, this needs to be yours." 

Sam kept his face impassive. "Thought you didn't care anymore, Dean." 

"I don't. I couldn't care less what you want. I care what I want. And I want you to have the Mark. Think of it, Sam: can't get hurt, can't die, can do whatever the hell we want. Fuck, I've never killed more demons than since I kicked the bucket. You want to kill demons? Great. I'm down with that. Whaddaya say? You on board?" 

Sam narrowed his eyes. Something was off—well, a shitload of somethings were off, but one thing stuck out. "Why the sales pitch? What does it matter if I want to or not? You don't care about that stuff, right?" 

Something dark and violent flashed across Dean's face and for the space of a blink, his eyes turned black. Dean's lip rose in a snarl and he jerked his head towards the Mark on his forearm. 

"Mark of Cain," Dean said, "needs fucking _consent_ for it to be passed on, like stupid angelic crap. So you're going to say yes, and we're going to have ourselves a party." 

Sam laughed in disbelief. "Um, no." The bad feeling in his gut intensified as Dean relaxed and smiled. 

"Knew you'd say that." Dean reached into his jacket and withdrew the First Blade—Cain's blade, the one that Sam wished had been left at the bottom of the ocean— and pressed it against the bartender's throat. "So how about this? You say yes, or he dies." 

Sam felt the blood drain from his face as he looked into the bartender's panicked eyes. 

"His name's George, Sammy. And he has a wife and two—almost three—kids. Their pictures are by the cash behind the bar. Sweet-looking, perfect little family. . ." 

Sam's hands clenched into fists. He wanted nothing so much as to wipe the demon's smug grin off his brother's face, but the First Blade pressed tight against the man's throat and Sam could see a bead of blood roll down the edge as it pierced the skin. Dean didn't notice. He kept his gaze fixed on Sam. 

"Aw come on! Sammy!" Dean threw Sam's name out like a challenge. "You said yes to Lucifer, to fucking Death. It's a pattern." 

"To save the damned _world_!" Sam could have kicked himself for letting his mask slip, but Dean knew just where to slice. The corners of Dean's eyes crinkled in pleasure, which leant an edge of madness to the chillingly calm stare. 

"So you're putting your life before this guy's? Selfish. Selfish, little brother. But that was always your thing too, wasn't it?" 

It hurt, as it was meant to, playing with the shit-ton of issues Sam's fucked-up life had left him with. No one could target them like Dean; they'd been his issues too. 

"You won't leave him alive, no matter what I do," Sam said. He tried hard not to look at the terrified man's face. 

"Actually," Dean began, and the touch of madness faded, though Dean's serious, intense stare never left Sam, "you do this and I would." 

Sam shook his head. "This demon brother fantasy of yours—never going to happen. You're not Lucifer. I'm not going to say yes to you. Ever." 

Dean's eyes blackened and stayed that way. "Then this is all on you." Without effort or pause, Dean leisurely slid the blade into the bound man's shoulder. The man screamed through the gag. 

"No!" Sam yelled and rushed him. Dean yanked out the blade, letting the man fall to the side, and turned to meet Sam's attack. 

The fight lasted seconds, incalculably long seconds. Fast, hard, bloody. When Dean's demon-fuelled throw sent Sam's head into the side of a table, the moment it took for Sam to shake off the hit was enough to lose. Dean had pinned him before he could recover, pressing his face into the worn floor. He ripped off Sam's sling and roughly secured his hands with a zip tie that seemed to have come from nowhere. Dean had planned this. Sam let his body slump beneath Dean's steel hold. 

"You're mine," Dean said through gritted teeth, and Sam felt a drip of blood against his cheek from Dean's cut lip. "Now, accept the Mark." 

"No." Sam's calm, quiet and decisive answer infuriated Dean, and Sam was slammed against the floor again. 

"Sam! Take the fucking Mark!" 

Sam didn't answer so Dean wrenched him onto his back. Sam let him: he was still seeing double, and from this position there was little he could do to gain the upper hand. The blackness of Dean's eyes cleared for a moment. Sam wondered what he was thinking. 

"I'm not going to say yes, Dean," Sam forced the words past Dean's firm grip on his throat. 

A flash of what almost looked like pain flashed across Dean's features, but it was gone too fast for Sam to be sure. Dean's arrogant grin had returned, but it came close to being a snarl. 

"Suit yourself." Dean shrugged, but it didn't seem as nonchalant as Dean probably intended. Demon or not, Sam's refusal appeared to have hurt him. "Plan B it is." 

After slamming Sam down one more time for good measure, Dean seized the bartender under his injured shoulder. Beneath his bulging, white-ringed eyes, the bartender's cheeks puffed up as he sought to yell through his gag. He wildly shook his head no. With a chilling smile, Dean shoved the Blade into the man's stomach, once, twice, and then angled it upward and pulled, ripping through bone with a wet crunching sound and sending a spray of blood outward. The body dropped to the ground with its chest torn open and Dean stood over it, dripping crimson. 

"'Take care of Sam,'" Dean muttered. "Oh, I'll take care of him alright." When Sam saw Dean approach him, he thought he'd be meeting a similar fate. 

"Oh, don't worry," Dean drawled, in a tone that said the opposite. He gripped Sam by the throat once more. Sam kicked out and futilely tried to move out of Dean's reach as Dean continued, "I'm not going to _kill_ you, Sam. Yet." 

The blade sliced through the waistband of Sam's jeans and parted the fabric of one of its legs. With his ever-present, mad smile, Dean caught the remaining pant leg, and Sam's squirms only succeeded in divesting him of his clothing sooner. The tip of the bone blade grazed Sam as it slid down, leaving careless, bleeding cuts in its wake. 

"Think I'm not your brother?" Dean said. "Then that's how I'll treat you. You want a demon? You got it." Dean reached a hand back and sunk it into the body's gaping opening. "This demon enough for you?" He emerged with a handful of intestines that slid through his hands even as he tossed them onto Sam's naked lower half. "Oh, we're going to have fun." He cocked his head to the smiled and the mad grin widened. "Well, at least I am." 

The smell made Sam gag as Dean rubbed the dead man's entrails over Sam until every inch was covered in blood and guts. When Dean finished coating Sam's hair, he stripped off his own blood-drenched clothes and proceeded to do the same to himself. 

When Dean approached him, Sam kicked out, but Dean evaded the kick, took Sam by his bound arms and dragged him over to the slaughtered bartender. With a heave, Dean pushed him back hard against splayed-open corpse, and the broken ribs dug into his back. Sam felt the still-warm body fluids seep into his shirt and begin to cool and he could feel the slick and squish of unknown internal organs against his bare ass. Taking advantage of Sam's shock, Dean forced apart Sam's knees and slotting himself close. Dean's hard cock pressed against Sam's flaccid one. Then Dean shifted and Sam could feel Dean thrust his cock into the cooling gore beneath him. 

Sam stared at his brother unable to believe what was happening. 

"I told you what I wanted from you," Dean traced the line of Sam's jaw, "and you said no . . ." Then brought his hand down and roughly jammed his fingers into Sam's anus. 

"Don't! No! Dean!" 

At Sam's cry, Dean looked up through his blood-encrusted eyelashes and continued. "So I'll have you another way." 

When Dean's cock tore into Sam, Dean's satisfied laugh was a low counterpoint to Sam's screams. 

Dean slashed apart the tie that bound Sam's wrists and held his arms on either side of his head. "Come on, Sam, fight me!" Dean taunted as he fucked into his brother. 

Dean's unrelenting pounding outlasted Sam's screams. When Sam fell silent, staring past Dean with wide shocky eyes, Dean leaned in and press his forehead to Sam's, almost gently. 

"Maybe you won't be next to me, but _this_ will always be mine," he whispered, and with a half-dozen vicious thrusts, Dean threw his head back and came with a cry of triumph. As he pumped his final release, Dean froze and his eyes shifted to the back entrance. Sam, still dazed, hadn't heard anything, but Dean's eyes narrowed. 

"You bring a friend, Sam? This is a private party." Dean stood up, slipping out of Sam without ceremony, and paid no attention to the mixed fluids that dripped off his cock as he took a step towards the door. 

Pushing the pain aside, Sam seized his chance. He slipped his hand into the jacket that had fallen beside him and withdrew the rune-inscribed handcuffs. Every movement hurt, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to breathe. Later he would let himself curl up into a tiny ball, but this could be his only chance. Rising up despite the tearing pain, Sam lashed out with a hoarse yell, and slapped the cuff onto Dean's wrist. When Dean turned towards Sam in surprise, Sam punched him in the jaw, throwing all his weight into it, followed it with a broken chair leg to the head and a kick to the groin. Then he cuffed the other wrist. 

Naked, and sticky with blood, Sam ignored the tears that trailed down his cheeks and the pained cries that he couldn't hold back. He manhandled Dean to the Impala, and forced him into the empty trunk, after taking a moment to verify the devil's trap remained intact. He slammed the trunk closed with more force than was necessary and fell hard against the car, staying there until he could get his trembling legs to make it to the car door. 

He could hear something now, the sound of someone walking through the destruction of the bar. Without looking back, Sam gunned the Impala and tore off in the direction of the bunker. Sam's hands trembled but he needed to secure Dean in the bunker before he could indulge his fast-approaching breakdown. Then—after—he was fucking getting his brother back. 


End file.
